Freedom

The faint spread of lamplight created a peaceful atmosphere that soothed both body and mind.

I sat blankly wiping glasses at the bar counter.

There weren’t any glasses needing washing since customers hadn’t arrived yet, but I always wiped glasses during quiet moments like this.

Memories from before entering the Academy felt vividly fresh, as if they’d happened yesterday.

The squeaking sound combined with the bar’s tranquil atmosphere made time fly by despite merely cleaning glasses.

How long had I been wiping glasses while reminiscing about old memories?

The quiet bar filled only with squeaking sounds had its silence shattered by the loud ringing of the entrance bell announcing a customer’s arrival.

“Welcome.”

“…Well look who it is. Ophelia? I heard you got a job somewhere else?”

“Circumstances changed. Long time no see. What can I get you?”

“The usual, the usual. And hey, no need to be so formal! I’m practically a regular here. Why not call me ‘big sis’?”

“Understood.”

“Ignoring me again… That reaction takes me back.”

The visitor was an almost daily patron.

She came so frequently I sometimes wondered how her liver held up, making her quite memorable.

Her annoyingly good affinity for sticking to people had caused me some headaches before.

Setting down the pleasantly squeaking glass, I retrieved a freshly cleaned new glass and began preparing the drink.

Ingredients: rum, lime, and cola.

While factory-squeezed lime juice would suffice, the Owner insisted on using fresh ingredients as part of her philosophy.

After thoroughly washing the lime, I chopped it finely, placed it in the glass, and gently crushed it to release the juice.

Added precisely 1 ounce of rum measured with a jigger.

Filled the glass with perfectly clear ice cubes (courtesy of some magical process that eliminated air bubbles), topped it with cola, and stirred.

Finally garnished with a reserved lime wedge before serving it to the regular.

“One Cuba Libre.”

“Oh, thanks!”

Gulp, gulp.

Did the carbonation not sting?

She emptied her glass in one go the moment it arrived, smiling blissfully.

“Ahhh, that’s the stuff. Nothing beats starting with this.”

Perhaps because it wasn’t strong?

She didn’t seem drunk at all, but I decided to ask something I’d always wondered about her happy expression.

“…You always insisted on starting with that drink. Any special reason?”

“Huh? …Nothing major. Doesn’t Cuba Libre make you think of freedom?”

“It does.”

Legend said an American soldier supporting Cuba’s independence movement mixed Cuban rum with American cola to create it.

Even its name literally meant “Free Cuba”.

“So I drink it first to celebrate liberation from daily hardships! Freedom!”

“I see. Rough day today too?”

“Don’t get me started. Disobedient subordinates, nagging superiors… Killing me, seriously. Ah, next drink – Gin and Tonic.”

“Certainly.”

So that was the meaning behind it.

I’d simply thought she liked the taste.

Retrieving a new glass per the regular’s request, I began mixing.

“…So why’d you come back? Heard you got another job.”

“Ah…”

…Something I’d tried not to think about. Students’ faces flickered through my mind.

Were they doing well? I missed them already despite only days apart.

Noticing my darkened expression, the regular hastily changed topics, realizing her mistake.

“No, no! Don’t answer! Just consider it drunk rambling!”

“Shall I? Then please stop rambling.”

“…Wow, actually saying it leaves me speechless.”

The regular began gulping her new drink to soothe her nerves.

Worried the mood might turn too somber, I lightened the atmosphere.

“But it’s fine. I finished what I needed to do.”

“Oh? Really?”

“Yes. The ending wasn’t perfect… But I accomplished what I wanted.”

“That’s great! …Another Cuba Libre then!”

“Right away.”

Even if low-alcohol, ordering three drinks this quickly without snacks worried me.

I hoped she wouldn’t get too drunk to stand.

With that concern, I served the ordered drink when the regular suddenly pushed her glass toward me.

“Customer?”

“This one’s on me. Drink up.”

“Excuse me…?”

“Why so surprised? A resignation gift!”

Her slightly flushed face smiled as she dispelled the earlier awkwardness, nodding encouragingly.

“Resignation means… While income stops, you gain temporary freedom. Freedom – wonderful word, no?”

“…I started working here immediately after resigning. And I’m on duty now.”

“Eh, freedom’s still freedom! Would you reject free drinks over technicalities? Just make drinks and wash glasses – nobody minds if you’re slightly tipsy.”

“Like hell they wouldn’t.”

“Gah!”

“Ah, Owner-nim. Good evening.”

“Evening. Working hard I see.”

The Owner who’d stepped out briefly returned, having overheard our conversation.

Sighing as she placed a hand on the regular’s head, she looked at me.

“Drink it.”

“…Pardon? But I’m working…”

“Since when have you not slacked off during downtime? Special permission today only.”

“Woo-hoo!”

“Why are you cheering? You’ve never bought me drinks! Seduced by her chest or something? Huh?”

“Kyaaah! My, my hair! Okay! Okay! I’ll buy yours too! Ow!”

“Should’ve done that sooner.”

“Is this how you treat friends?!”

“You’re worse never buying your bartender friend drinks!”

“You own a bar! Alcohol’s everywhere!”

While the Owner and regular bickered, I stared at the glass before me.

The freedom symbolizing drink.

Though I’d made countless versions as bartender, I’d never actually tasted it.

Freedom…

…Perhaps I’d been enjoying freedom in this world for quite some time now.

I’d only rushed toward students’ happy endings without considering anything else.

Maybe now liberated from that goal, I was savoring my own freedom.

Carefully, I sipped the condensation-beaded drink.

“Well?”

“…Delicious. Tastes like freedom.”

“Right?”

The sweet cola aroma blended with lime’s citrus sharpness and sourness. Though masked by sweetness, alcohol’s subtle fragrance lingered.

I understood why she loved it so.

“Ah, Ophelia. Make mine a Moscow Mule.”

“I’ll have… a Margarita.”

“Certainly.”

With the Owner, long-unseen regular, and myself, conversation bloomed through alcohol’s aid.

Trivial stories only – new hires causing trouble, exhausting boss-pleasing.

Compared to days of flying swords, magic, princesses and Watchers, these worries seemed insignificant.

Yet precisely that made it feel like returning to peaceful normalcy.

Like game heroes who save worlds then vanish.

After saving students, I’d returned to everyday life.

***

“…Haah.”

When Anastasia heaved a deep sigh, an attending priest inquired.

“Is something troubling you, Your Holiness?”

“It’s nothing.”

“If duties overwhelm you, perhaps a brief rest? You haven’t rested recently…”

“…Very well. May I have some privacy?”

“Of course.”

Recently, Anastasia had been swamped with papal duties instead of attending the Academy.

The papal absence wasn’t acutely felt. Clergy kept advising her to enjoy her fleeting youth.

Entrust duties to us for a year or two, they insisted.

Contrary to their assumptions, Anastasia wasn’t working for church stability.

She desperately immersed herself in work to forget something.

“Huu…”

Hypnosis.

Teacher Ophelia had confessed possessing such ability.

…Why had guarded Orca opened her heart so easily to Teacher?

Initially, she’d attributed it to exceptional counseling skills. Assumed Teacher was simply Academy-teacher caliber.

But if Teacher used hypnosis instead?

This suspicion tainted all memories with Teacher Ophelia.

Casual conversations.

Teacher’s advice.

…Even the memory of resolving to kill her father.

Anastasia tightly shut eyes fatigued from days of overwork, then forced herself upright.

That memory of deciding she must kill her father herself.

If that memory was fabricated.

If not her own decision, but Teacher Ophelia’s hypnotic suggestion?

If there’d been ways to save Father?

To stop imagining worst scenarios, Anastasia desperately began reviewing documents.